by Ann,Brooklyn
Chapter Eight
Shayna sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat of the Pilot. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, or herself from darting nervous glances at Dante. He looked furious. His white-knuckled fingers clenched the steering wheel so hard it was surprising it didn’t crack. And he hadn’t bothered to turn on the radio.
What could he be mad about? Her husband never cared about her hobby. Why would Dante be pissed that she wrote romance novels? Was it just because she hadn’t told him she was published? He hadn’t even asked what she wrote, and she didn’t want to tell him because she didn’t want to see that same look of disgust Shawn and every other man—and even some women, including her mother—got when they heard what she wrote. Even now, she figured he just would have laughed.
Well, it was coming. Dante looked like he’d explain the reasoning behind his anger in precise detail when they got home, so Shayna settled back in her seat with mingled dread and anticipation to get it over with.
Her eyes widened in surprise as he made the next turn. Instead of heading straight to his house, Dante pulled into a bookstore. After they parked, he got out and opened her door before she had her seatbelt unfastened.
“What are we doing here?” she asked cautiously.
“What does it look like, Shayna Gray? We’re here to buy some books.”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he was off, crossing the parking lot in ground-devouring strides.
Her cheeks burned at his mention of her pen name, and Dante’s intentions suddenly became clear. Dear God, he was going to buy her books! The thought of him reading them, reading her love scenes, made her wish there was a hole nearby she could crawl into.
Though her feet protested, she chased after him and grabbed his arm. “You don’t need any more books,” she argued pathetically. “Your library looks pretty full.”
He continued walking, but at least she got a smile out of him. “I’m always looking to add to my collection.” Sarcasm crept into his tone. “And just think, I should be able to get them signed.”
“Dante…,” she pleaded, though she didn’t know for what.
He stopped and turned to face her, voice low and ominous. “Believe me, I have a lot to say to you, but it’s going to have to wait until we get home.”
She nodded with a shiver before she followed his long strides to the bookstore.
Dante was all warm professionalism by the time they got inside. “Excuse me,” he said to the first salesperson he found. “Could you point me to the romance section?”
Ignoring the woman’s perplexed look, he headed the way she pointed like a man on an important mission. Shayna trailed behind with a sigh. Any other time this would be funny. The salesgirl probably thought he’d lost a bet.
Dante tracked down her books with the efficiency of a bloodhound. Unbelievably, the store had all five books in her mainstream series, though none of her earlier standalones. He seized a copy of each book in her Desperate Dukes series, and turned back to her.
“It’s usually best to only buy the first one or two,” Shayna ventured. “You know, in case you end up not liking the author.”
He raised a brow, and his lips quirked in a half smile despite the lingering glint of anger in his eyes. “I think I’ll like her just fine.”
Shayna opened her mouth to retort, but she stopped as a prominently displayed book by one of her favorite authors caught her eye. “Oh my God, I’ve been waiting forever for that one to come out!” She grabbed it and eagerly read the back cover.
Dante frowned. “What are you doing?”
The imp within took over at his annoyance, an imp she hadn’t released for years. If he was going to mess with her head, she could play the same game.
“I’m buying some books,” she replied, browsing for more of her favorite authors. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Come to think of it, you really do need to add to your romance collection. It is quite lacking.”
He seemed unable to form a reply. Served him right.
She browsed longer, accumulating a large stack as he stood there, holding her books and tapping his foot.
When they got in line, she pulled her bank card from her bodice and gestured. “You go ahead, sir,” she said, remembering when he’d asked her not to call him that.
The look of startled annoyance on his face nearly made her drop her books, but it was worth it. He’d been confusing the hell out of her, and if yanking his chain was her only means of retaliation, so be it.
The woman at the counter gave Dante an odd look as she rang up the novels. But then she frowned, picking up The Duke’s Quest. She glanced at the author photo next to the bar code and then looked at Shayna, giving her a double take. Then a knowing smile spread across her features.
She looked at Dante and nodded at his purchases. “You didn’t believe her, did you?”
He gave the woman his most charming smile. She visibly melted, making Shayna grit her teeth in irritation.
“No, I didn’t.”
The clerk laughed and handed him his receipt before turning to Shayna. “I haven’t read yours before, but now I have to. Our manager raves.”
Shayna stepped forward, and the woman exclaimed over every book she’d selected. “I love her! Do you know each other? What about this one? Is she any good?” Then, after the debit card was run, the clerk asked for an autograph. “Maybe you can do a signing here.”
Dante grabbed their bags and interrupted the conversation, giving Shayna an odd smile. “We’ll see if we can arrange that.”
The cashier grabbed a card from beside the register. “Here’s the store manager’s contact information. She’d love it if you called.”
Before Shayna could respond, Dante led her out of the store. Another awkward silence ensued until they arrived back home.
Dante headed straight to the bar and poured himself a beer. “Do you want some wine?”
Shayna nodded. Maybe a glass or two would settle her nerves. Or three.
He served her then sat down, piling the books on the bar. “You’re a romance author,” he said, running his finger along the cover of The Duke’s Deception.
“Yeah,” she replied, mind swimming with confusion. He acted mad at her, yet he didn’t say romance author with the same tone of scorn and disgust that so many other men had. “Why are you so upset about that?”
His eyes blazed. “Why did you lie to me about it?”
Shayna blinked. “I didn’t lie.”
“You told me you were a housewife.” His accusing glare didn’t waver.
“I was.” Her voice rose defensively. “And when you asked if I had any hobbies, I told you I wrote.”
Dante gazed at her, thunderstruck. “Hobby?” He picked up one of her books. “You call this a hobby? This says you’re a bestseller!”
Shayna sighed and sipped her wine. “It isn’t what it looks like. I only made the list for one week last year, and I was pretty far down. Number one hundred and forty-two. And my royalties are really modest. Unless they’re the big names you see on the airport racks, most authors don’t make that much. Honestly, I don’t get why you’re so angry about this.”
“I’m not angry.” He sighed. “And I’m sorry I acted like I was. I’m just frustrated because, here I was, thinking you were just a housewife, wondering how I could help you find something…I don’t know, fulfilling to do. And here you already had it and didn’t tell me. And I don’t know why you didn’t. I’ve never taken dishonesty well, even if it’s just by omission.”
“I’m sorry too.” She met his gaze. “I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”
“Laugh at you?” He stared at her, incredulous. “For being an entertainer, like I am? I’m not…” He took a swig of beer. “Never mind.”
Shayna had a feeling she knew what he wanted to say: I’m not your ex-husband. And he was right. He wasn’t anything like Shawn. And Shawn was a big part of the reason she’d been too afraid to talk about her writing. Wou
ld the ghost of his malice haunt her forever?
“Did your husband know about your career?” Dante asked suddenly.
“No.” Shayna smirked in remembrance of his scorn when she’d first started writing. “He didn’t care as long as the house was clean and dinner was ready when he came home.”
“Ah,” Dante said with deceptive calm, stroking his chin. “The ‘hobby’ label suddenly comes clear.” His gaze became intent—and inescapable. “He didn’t know how successful you are, did he? Your insistence that you’ll be able to pay me means you’ve been saving your royalties, doesn’t it?”
“He knew I was published,” Shayna said defensively. “He laughed so hard at my first advance check. After two years of rejections, it was pretty pitiful.” A chuckle escaped. “But no, he didn’t know how much my royalties have grown since then, though he would have if he’d bothered to come with me when I met the accountant to do our taxes.” She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at how little Shawn had participated in their joint responsibilities. “I planned on telling him when I was really successful, like when I earned enough to pay for our son’s college. In the meantime, he didn’t ask and I didn’t tell, and that went on for three years.” She took another drink of her wine before confessing, “There were a few times that I flew to conventions and book-signings, but I lied and told him I was visiting my mother.”
The thought suddenly struck her as hilarious. It had been such a ridiculous lie, but effective since Shawn couldn’t stand her mother. She giggled helplessly before another thought intruded, sobering her: “I think I was afraid that if Shawn knew how big my hobby had become, he would make me stop. I couldn’t take that. I loved to write.”
“Loved?” Dante arched a brow. The dangerous glint came back to his eyes.
“I haven’t had any stories in my head since my son died.” Shayna fought the ache in her heart at the admission. “I think it might be gone, the spark, and I don’t know what I’m going to tell my editor. I think I might quit.”
“Things like that don’t just go away,” Dante said. His eyes narrowed, looking like chips of pewter. “And you can’t just quit. Think of that store manager. Did you for once stop and think that when you walked out of your life you also walked out on your fans? God… First Ritchie Panic, then Collette, then Rage of Angels, now you.”
Shayna jerked back in her seat, startled. “Maybe something happened with them. Not Ritchie Panic, but, like, with Collette. Maybe she just didn’t want to tell you. I don’t know what terms you parted on. I mean, you’d been divorced for two years. And who’s Rage of Angels?”
“A band I mentored four years ago. They disappeared off the face of the planet last December. At least it was after they’d finished their album and before they were due to tour, but still, they were gone until last month and haven’t told anyone where they went. Not even me.” He glared at his beer before taking another drink. “And I was on excellent terms with them before they left. Anyway, we were talking about you.”
Shame twisted Shayna’s gut and made her ears burn. She remembered the lingering sadness in his voice when he was talking about his childhood idol abandoning his fans, and she recognized Dante was right. Until she’d made her online post the other week, she hadn’t given her readers the respect they were due. Not since Shawn Jr. died.
Dante’s frown deepened. “Your publisher knows what’s going on, right?”
Shayna nodded. “They know. Emma persuaded them to give me an extension on my deadline.”
“How much time do you have left?” he asked softly.
“A few days to write a pitch….” She finished her wine and toyed with the empty glass. “Three months before I have to turn in a first draft. But I still have nothing. Not even an idea.”
“And if you don’t make the deadline?”
His voice was low and forbidding, but she met his gaze, willing herself to be brave. “They already gave me one extension, so if I don’t make this one, they might not work with me again. But, as I said, maybe I’m done writing.”
Dante was silent as he digested her words, but Shayna wasn’t fooled by his apparent calm. There was a rigid tension in his shoulders, and his eyes seemed to burn. Suddenly she felt like part of a pack of disappointments for him. Not only had a former hero of his abandoned him as a fan, his ex-wife had done the same and never given a reason. And then his protégés. It was clear he took loyalty very seriously.
He would probably throw her out now. A stone settled in her chest, and she blinked back the tears that burned behind her eyes as she awaited the inevitable. Oddly enough, what she thought she’d miss most was his very presence.
“This is what’s going to happen,” he said slowly. “You’ve got to get your creativity back and come up with a story.”
“—I’ll pack my things,” she began at the same time. Then his words sank in. “What?”
“Tomorrow you will write something,” he said.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered. “You can’t just turn story ideas on and off like a faucet.”
Dante gently grabbed her arms and leaned forward until his mane of dark curls made a curtain around them. His deep blue eyes caught and captivated her. Shayna’s breath halted as a hot shiver ran down her spine.
“You will,” he said. “Inspiration never dies.” Then his lips brushed across hers.
They were whisper-soft. Shayna’s nerves tingled and sang. She melted against him, returning the kiss, but just as she reached up to caress his hair, Dante released her and moved away.
“For luck,” he said, giving her a slight smile. “Now get to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you.”
Shayna opened her mouth to whisper his name, but the word died in her throat as she watched him pour himself another drink. He kept his back to her.
Despite her trembling legs, she slid off the bar stool and fled the room. In a trance-like state, she washed off her makeup and got ready for bed, but Dante’s kiss replayed in her mind. It didn’t mean anything, the logical half of her brain protested, but her heart and body didn’t listen. Her skin continued to tingle.
“I feel like one of the heroines in my stories,” she whispered.
It took forever before sleep claimed her, and when it did, Dante strode into her dreams. He did more than just kiss her.
***
Dante sighed as he pressed his finger to lips that still tingled. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered to the empty room.
It was just for luck, he feebly rationalized. Besides, she shouldn’t have looked so damn sexy in that dress.
His eyes strayed to the stack of books at his elbow. He’d never read a romance novel before, but he enjoyed all things medieval. He was curious to see if Shayna’s stories were accurate.
Polishing off the rest of his beer, he took the books upstairs. An hour later, he lay in bed with The Duke’s Bride, turning the pages as fast as his eyes could devour them. He’d heard romance novels alternately described as insipid fluff or porn for women. This was neither. Shayna’s novel was well-written, with captivating characters and a thrilling plot about a man and a woman from rival noble houses uncovering a dangerous secret to the crown and falling in love in the process. And she’d clearly done her research. Even little things, like scarcity of paper in the period, or which particular nobles were favored by the king, were accurate as far as the history books he’d read stated.
The heroine was brash and mischievous, completely unlike the Shayna he knew, and when he reached the first love scene, he was astounded by the incredibly sensual prose. To call it porn would demean the passion emblazoned on the pages. Shayna wielded great power as an author. With mere words, she had him hard and aching—and he couldn’t take care of the problem because the story had woven a spell over him. He had to know what happened next. The hero had won the heroine’s body, but would he win her heart? Dante was surprised by how much he cared. It was almost impossible to believe that the tiny, vulnerable woman in the next room wa
s capable of creating such an intense story.
He finished the book with a satisfied smile and reached for the next. Then he looked at the clock. It was three a.m. His eyes burned with exhaustion, and reluctantly he put the novel back on the end table.
Sleep didn’t come right away. Dante couldn’t stop thinking about Shayna. After reading her book, it seemed he knew her better, yet he couldn’t help but feel he didn’t know her at all. That contradiction was infuriating.
However, there were two things he did know. One: After reading Shayna’s sex scenes, it would be impossible to think of her in a platonic manner ever again. Not that he’d been able to do so in the first place, but her sensual imagination threw a wrench in his efforts to view her as an innocent that he’d corrupt with his desire. Two: It would be a crime for her to never write another book.
Dante was lost as to how to handle the former, but he had a plan for the latter.
Chapter Nine
Shayna woke to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.
“What?” she called groggily, rubbing her eyes.
“Are you decent?” Dante called.
“Yeah.” The bedside clock read ten a.m.
Dante opened the door and turned on the light. He held something in his hands, but Shayna was blinking too much from the sudden brightness to see what it was.
“Happy early birthday,” he said, flashing that smile that made her belly flutter. Then her eyes widened as she saw his gift. It was a new laptop. From the look of it, the thing was ten times more expensive than the ancient monstrosity she’d broken over the head of the thug outside the stadium where they met. Jeez, that seemed so long ago.
“Now you can get started on your next book.” Dante’s grin broadened, accentuating his dimples. “I’m going to take a nap. I stayed up too late reading.” His smile remained, though he spoke in a somewhat stern voice. “By the time I get up, you better have something for me.”
He sounded just like her old critique partner, who’d motivated her to write every day, no matter how bad she felt. After Shayna’s world collapsed, she’d broken contact with the woman, not wanting to hear a word about writing when all happiness had died.
